Dying
by TheManiacOnWheels
Summary: Set a few years after the Dark Master's death. My first fic. Please don't flame.
1. Chapter 1

The Temple was quiet

The Temple was quiet. No birds that so often fluttered about the dojo stirred. A faint breeze swirled around the rafters, making not a sound in the night.

Only one creature moved. Slowly, casting elongated shadows over everything, he walked out onto the balcony that extended from the dojo's exit, shoulders hunched in a betrayal of fear and pain even the least observant passerby would have picked up.

The dragon raised his head to the sky, in his eyes pleading, webbed spines on his forehead flat against his purple scales. He stood there for a long time, just…staring. He considered sleeping out here, as he had done years ago, when he had been smaller.

That habit had vanished along with many of his others, such as exhaling smoke out his nostrils.

With a shuddering sigh, Spyro turned and headed back inside, tail dragging dejectedly along the ground.

Once he entered the dojo, the dragon paced over to where he had left his adoptive brother, a golden dragonfly named Sparx who was a little older than he was (and never showed it), and lay down wearily next to him.

An old red dragon, the Guardian Ignitus, swung his great head over to look at him, the normally golden eyes dull and solemn. Ignitus had looked after him like a son ever since a confused and frightened Spyro had accidentally stumbled, as indiscreetly as possible, into the cave that Ignitus had hidden himself in.

Spyro remembered his hatchlinghood quite vividly; for after he had met Ignitus most of his time had been spent in skirmishes between himself and an army full of mindless _bastards _that never seemed to stay dead.

Of course, it had been some time since he'd actually been _involved _in any battles. At first, he hadn't minded, welcoming the absence of soldiers. Now however, he would have welcomed any distraction.

Sparx woke up momentarily, murmuring sleepily that Spyro could've been quieter about returning, something Spyro could hardly have cared less about at the moment.

He wished he could voice his discontent to Sparx, but his foster brother, though older, simply wouldn't understand. He didn't think the same way Spyro did, and wasn't nearly as sensitive.

He curled his long tail around his feet, chin resting on his forelegs. A deep sigh issued from his nostrils, his eyes closing slowly as sleep gradually overcame him.

* * *

Ignitus watched his charge sadly, knowing that if he was somber now, after the inevitable happened, it was possible that he might become unmanageable.

The old dragon was not as affected by it, as his age and experience provided a depressing predecessor. Spyro was still young enough to be permanently affected, and it was very likely he would for weeks afterwards be depressed and possibly violent.

Well, every dragon would creep about the Temple moaning for days. The passing of another dragon was a terrible thing.

Ignitus felt very clearly the knot in his chest that had accumulated over the days since Cynder had fallen ill. It pulsed as though it was a second heart, growing larger as the days went by and the illness worsened.

It had been three weeks since the black dragon had collapsed soundlessly to the Temple floor, unconscious before she even hit the ground. They had tried everything to alleviate the fever, but nothing worked. Now they had resigned themselves until the disease had taken its toll.

To a stranger, it would sound harsh, but the truth of it was there was no cure, no way to save Cynder from death's cold grip. And they were grieving before it even happened.

* * *

Spyro silently watched the Guardians murmuring quietly together, not bothering to try and eavesdrop. He didn't need to. He could tell by their expressions that they were discussing Cynder.

He restrained himself from indulging in scraping the ground. He had no wish to ruin the intricate carvings on the marble floor, which he certainly would have done if he had continued to rake it with his talons.

The night seemed…longer, than usual. Not an hour had passed since he had returned from the balcony yet it felt like an eternity.

When the four old dragons turned and entered the cavern in which they slept, Spyro ducked his head under a wing, feeling weak. Cynder dead. The thought was unimaginable. And Ignitus was old, Spyro thought, a slight whimper escaping through his serrated teeth. He couldn't lose two of the most important people in his life so close together.

He remembered how…empty, he had felt when Cynder had taken ill. And he couldn't talk to her because she was unconscious. At one point he had been so desperate, that he had attempted to touch her mind.

And he felt nothing.

* * *

Ignitus had been half asleep when the piercing cry jolted him to alertness.

Bewildered, he rushed to the corner of the Grotto where Cynder lay, and saw her shivering, though she did not make a sound. Only then did Ignitus think about the scream.

No. Not Cynder's voice. Spyro's.

* * *

Sparx was frantic, flitting from one place to another in agitation. Spyro sat bolt upright on his haunches, pupils contacting at a furious pace.

Suddenly, he flared his wings and screamed, his voice carrying a snarling edge.

"Spyro, calm down," Sparx said, his voice breaking with fear. The purple dragon paid no attention to him whatsoever, seeming to concentrate only on something distant.

He didn't stop his shrill ululation, head pointing upwards, tail thrashing through the air, coming precariously close to Sparx.

_CYNDER! _

The force of his mental shout was enough to send a previously sleeping group of birds into careening hysterics, twittering madly.

He suddenly leapt forward, running towards the Grotto, a confused and exceptionally frightened Sparx following him.

Ignitus uttered a surprised grunt as Spyro skidded ungracefully into the Grotto, careless in his haste.

"Spyro, what-

He was cut off when Spyro gave a mournful bugle, trembling as much as Cynder was in her fevered state. Slowly, the purple dragon lifted his head, eyes whirling with anxiety.

"We've got to do something Ignitus."

"There is nothing…"

"Yes there is!" Spyro snapped, then immediately hunched his shoulders, his expression contrite. "I mean, there has to be…" he said in a small voice, apologetic for his moment of fierceness.

Ignitus bowed his head, then extended a wing over the shivering dragon, as he said sadly, "There's nothing we can do for her Spyro, we tried everything there is."

"But," Spyro protested quietly, "If we don't do something now…she'll die." He huddled closer to his guardian, miserable. He hadn't done that since he was a hatchling.

Ignitus sighed, "If there was anything we could do for her, we would, trust me. But the illness is too far advanced. We can't save her…"

Spyro felt a chill run down his spine, and glanced down at Cynder. Her breathing was harsh and shallow, sides rising and falling irregularly.

He suddenly saw her at another time, when they'd been hatchlings, on the balcony after the death of the Dark Master.

"_He's really gone, forever."_

"_Yeah…"_

"_Do you know what this means?"_

"…_no more visions of doom?"_

"_No, it means that the land is free. It will never be controlled by evil again."_

"_Not just the land."_

"_What else?"_

"_You."_

_She was silent for a long while._

"_I promised you I'd do it, I promised you we'd get through this."_

"_And you did Spyro, you did!"_

She'd hugged him then, for the first time, happy in earnest. Spyro gave a half sob, half growl and crouched down next to the limp Cynder. He could not let her die; they'd been through too much.


	2. Chapter 2

2

2

A grim mood settled over the Temple.

Ignitus stayed in the Grotto, watching worriedly over Spyro, who hadn't moved from his place. He was there, vibrating with an almost silent croon, furling and unfurling his wings.

Every now and again, he would snarl, refusing to explain why. Ignitus had eventually surmised that the purple dragon had become somehow attuned to the turmoil of Cynder's fevered mind.

He supposed that was the reason for his earlier behavior.

Ignitus found that a whole new cause for worry. He was pushing deeper, trying to touch what sense there was in Cynder's consciousness, trying to stop her from dying.

Even as he watched, Spyro bared his teeth, hissing a low whistle that sent a shudder down Ignitus's spine.

Sparx, not bound by restrictions that held back Ignitus from interfering, was sincerely concerned for his friend's welfare, and was attempting to draw him out of his silent panic.

"Spyro, c'mon, listen to me, you've got to get up. Don't go all EMO on me."

His only response was a flick of a tail.

The dragonfly gave up soon after that, and approached Ignitus, "I hate to say it old man, but I think he's finally cracked."

The old dragon shook his head, "He is frightened."

"What's there to be frightened _about_?"

Ignitus looked away. Sparx didn't, wouldn't understand. "A dragon's death is a terrible thing, Sparx," he said simply.

Just as Ignitus had suspected, the dragonfly looked befuddled. "Do you mean the queen of horror-death-I mean, Cynder?"

The red dragon looked him squarely in the eyes, "After all you and Spyro have been through together, I would have thought that you would understand their bond."

"Bond? What?"

Ignitus sighed, "If Spyro's dedication to her is not plain enough, then you must be blind. He also bound himself to her years ago, when the Dark Master pierced her heart. You were, if I remember correctly, quite upset."

Sparx's stoic expression was enough to answer Ignitus's question.

"He used up the very vestiges of his energy to save her life," the old dragon continued, "binding himself to her until…one of them passes away into the void."

"But Spyro won't, if she dies, he won't die as well will he?" Sparx asked anxiously. For once there was no hint of belligerence or bluff coloring his tone.

Ignitus shook his head, "No, he won't, but that doesn't lessen the impact of loss." He purposefully didn't add the possibility of Spyro suiciding. Sparx was nervous enough as it was.

But it was not unknown. There had been previous times when dragons had suicided because the weight of their grief was too much to bear. Ignitus hoped with all his heart that Spyro would retain the sense to keep living. Even if dragonkind was doomed to extinction.

"He won't?" Sparx sighed in relief.

_So_, Ignitus thought, _there is a true brotherhood between them_. He had had evidence of that long before, and never really doubted it, but to hear the sincere fear and worry in Sparx's voice, see the shadow in his eyes, was more than enough proof.

Of course, they were all anxious, all saddened by the inevitability of Cynder's death, worsened by the fact that she, as the last female, had been the only hope for survival.

The thought of extinction was not even to be thought, to know that after they died there would be no little ones to carry on, no one to protect and brighten the land on the wings of great beasts.

Unconsciously, the words of the long dead Gaul sprang to his mind, the words he had spat at Ignitus on the battlefield, when the Ape King had been on the verge of death from his talons.

"_The age of Dragons has past, it will never rise again. Tell me, do you feel the chill of death, dragon?" He laughed maniacally, pointing at the sky, and Ignitus had only just begun to hear the cries. The clouds orange with smoke and flame, Ignitus could only watch in horror as his allies, his kin, were felled one by one, their torn bodies falling limply from the skies. As each one fell, the battlefield already drenched with blood, a huge black dragon, eyes glaring red malevolence, roared with a force that tore the sky asunder…_

Ignitus shuddered, closing his eyes against the memories which haunted him since he had fled from the battlefield, broken, the roar still echoing in his mind with a din that could not hide the voice in his mind that told him 'this is your fault. You failed her. Them. The war is lost.'

Ignitus remembered that it was Spyro who had given them hope, Spyro who had brought Cynder home, Spyro who brought the Dark Master's- Arenthal's- reign to an end.

But Spyro could not save them from extinction. When he died, though it could be maybe a thousand years before he did, so did the dragon race


End file.
